


Eosophobia

by Evenseven



Category: Gomorra - La Serie | Gomorrah (TV)
Genre: Dark, Drugs, Dubious Consent, Hurt/Comfort, I've been using the same tags for years, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Inspired by Fanart, M/M, No Beta, Non-Linear Narrative, Original Character(s), Pre-Canon, depends on your definition, mention of prostitution, spoilers for the movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:28:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25017010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evenseven/pseuds/Evenseven
Summary: (Eosophobia - Fear of dawn or daylight.)Pain is the anchor tied me to this worldferocious bites tangled with sweetnessof remnant of your love and false hopeWhen will I kneel before death's mercy?
Relationships: Ciro Di Marzio/Gennaro "Genny" Savastano
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	Eosophobia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Iulie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iulie/gifts).



> And [this amazing fanart](https://iulie-o.tumblr.com/post/622113514075619328/fffff-i-knowwww-im-the-worst-i-will-read).  
> You and your arts are amazing but what's new? <3
> 
> This fic is pretty random but. Ugh, I just needed to write it. (some more love for this fandom plz.)

**16**

The sun was burning through the balcony, and Ciro absolutely hated the sun. He was never into tanning either, and his skin was naturally a beautiful shade of golden honey so he avoid the sun as much as he could. Working his ass off under the ray of sunlight meant that the risk was high and he was disposable, and oh how much he hated being treated like a piece of trash, ready to be tossing away.

He had moved out of Attilio’s basement mid-June, though the summer had barely started and it would be much nicer staying in the basement to avoid sunlight. Ciro loved Attilio, he truly did, but working for him as a simple drug dealer forever sounded way less promising than learning how to cook. He was growing up and the world seemed a tad different now, compared to when he first met the elder man who he admired as a big brother, or a father, a guardian of some sort, and he tried very hard for the first two years to get the image of Bruno out of his head. Attilio had always been warm to him, not over-acting as Bruno, he was more laid-back and seemed confident in Ciro’s doing. So he didn’t hold him back when he decided to move out.

Ciro met a guy name Domenico last month, who also worked under the Savastano clan as a drug cook. Domenico was a few years older than Attilio, suffered from a quite severe shoulder injury he got in a crossfire last year, which forced him into early retirement in the business. He had well-groomed silky black hair which Ciro was sure it’s not his natural hair color, a pair of piercing icy-blue eyes and tattoos cover his left sleeve. They were briefly introduced over a delivery job but Ciro could’ve been sure that this guy kept eying him afterward. When the job was successfully done, Domenico offered him a chance to be his apprentice after learning that Attilio spoke him fairly high. It took him more than a day to think before he told Attilio about this, the elder man didn’t seemed particularly impressed. “Believe me, Ciru’, I’ve no doubt you can achieve so much more,” Attilio put the half-empty beer bottle down on the table, arms across and voice steady, “but you need to think about who to trust. This world never gets brighter, and you should know it better than me.” 

So he took another three days to deliberate before making this decision, in one month of time he moved in to a small flat paid by Domenico, which he shared with two other teenage boys. Mattia was roughly three years older than him, Rosario was one year younger. They were both working for Domenico and they got along well with Ciro, as always. Mattia was more serious and uptight about the business, and a much better cook than him, as he realized later. Rosario on the other hand, strong, loyal, and seemed to enjoy Ciro’s company a lot. They headed out to the canning factory where Domenico operated all the cooking, almost everyday after sunset, and came back together at the break of dawn together, sharing a beer before lying dead in bed. Ciro wasn’t bad at cooking, but wasn’t distinctly good either. Yet he did learned much more about how the drugs business functioned, so he went for accounting and strategy at the end.

-

**22**

The first time Ciro was introduced to the very heir of Savastano clan, the afternoon sun was burning in the backyard of Savastano house. The chubby kid picked himself out from the pool and stared at him and Attilio with a pair of starry black eyes, water still dripping from the tip of his curly dark hair, skin paler than any boy he had known. Donna Imma called three times before Gennaro finally answered, and when he walked away to reach his mother, he turned around twice to glance at Ciro. He didn’t understand why.

Later that night when he was walking down the street store to get some cigarette, a lovely young girl climbed up his right arm, asking if he could use some company. Serena, which she introduced herself as, was a pretty lass with dirty gold hair and dark chocolate eyes. “Please, good sir, spared me just some money for food,” Serena partly begged him as he tried to pushed her hands away, “please, I haven’t eaten the whole day and I won’t let you down.” Ciro wasn’t exactly in the mood but this girl did look quite pretty. He ended up getting a blowjob at the back alley, the sex wasn’t bad but there was no light in her eyes. He suddenly thought of Gennaro Savastano, and he wondered if Serena had the exactly same starry eyes when she was just a kid.

“How old are you?” His fingers caressed the pale oval face of the girl, she looked barely adult. “I turned twenty-one today.” Serena answered softly while helping him re-buckle his belt.

“Well then, happy birthday,” Ciro said as he brought out another 20 euro bill from his wallet, “the beer’s on me.”

“Thank you, sir,” Her face seemed to light up a little, “most people from my neighborhood do not survive 20, though I’m not sure if I should feel lucky or not.”

Fair enough, he didn’t answer, instead he turned away, this time Serena did not tangle his arm anymore. He thought about himself and his neighborhood, and the urge for a cigarette was back in his mind swiftly. They called him lucky when he was 21-day old, but he couldn’t be sure if he was.

-

**34**

He hated Spain. The sun there was particularly insufferable and the sea water tasted like sandpaper. He hated Russians, and Russian roulette. He hated Salvatore Conte and everything about him, his smooth tone and his electronic cigarette, his silky hair and his crucifix. He wanted to use Conte’s face as his next shooting target, but he couldn’t. Because it wasn’t some random thug he was talking about, but the young boss of another clan, who had associates even in Spain. (And now in fucking Russia thanks to his help.) And because Don Pietro wanted peace with Conte, so he had to be the one getting thrown into the sea and shaking his hands with a humble smile afterward.

He started to hate Don Pietro as well. Don’t get him wrong, Don Pietro was a decent man all and all. He had seen the potentials in Ciro and had provided him opportunities to learn and thrive. Maybe he had picked up some of the crafty side of Pietro Savastano along the way as well. But times were changing now, and the old man seemed to drown in his own imaginary picture too much and refused to listen. Ciro believed it was better for a change now, especially when Don Pietro was trapped in prison and his cunning wife hated him so much. But it wasn’t that easy to take over a clan even when their boss was captured, few direct evidence could be linked to the boss and they’re good at shutting people up and pointing fingers. The Savastano had a strong base over all these years, a lot of old bastards were loyal to Don Pietro and his family as well. Genny was no way near a threat, but it still wasn’t Ciro’s place to even insinuate this idea. And every time he tried to imply anything, Attilio shut him up with a slap to his ass. Or, he used to do so.

Now Attilio didn’t have the chance to shut him up anymore, and it’s all credit to that insidious shit Conte and of course stupid Don Pietro…He concluded that he hated Don Pietro a little more.

-

**25**

His daughter was named Maria-Rita, it was chosen by Attilio and both he and Deborah loved it so much. The little girl brought some of the sunshine back to Ciro’s life after all these years of desperation. He had a better purpose to fight now, not just a nickname he would like to live up to. Deborah was the most intelligent and strongest woman he had met, but she almost didn’t survive the process of giving birth. It also meant that Maria-Rita could be his one and only offspring now, and Ciro didn’t mind at all.

The smile of his little girl was so beautiful, she had the same golden honey skin as Ciro and those eyes, contained the whole universe.

Ciro started to go in and out of the Savastano household much more often recently, and thus spent more time seeing the one and only offspring of his boss. The boy he knew from a few years back grew up so rapidly that Ciro felt like he reached a new height record every time they met, and they met about every other day. Gennaro was still looking a bit chubby and very pale, as if those time he spent at the pool did him nothing. He grew stronger as well, quite aggressive in school, which he heard from somewhere, that Genny seemed to be leading his own little gang inside the school. What a child, Ciro laughed at the news.

To his wonder, Gennaro Savastano was close to nothing like his father, expect for the pale skin and shit load of ego maybe. Don Pietro was sophisticated and cold, but his son wore a silly mug whenever he saw Ciro. He invited him to his pool parties and gaming sessions after school, Ciro didn’t always show up but every time he did, the smile on Genny’s face glowed brighter. After a while Genny started to followed him around when he’s running errand for his father, all low-risk tasks like collecting debts and administrating factories. Don Pietro gave his approval of Genny familiarizing the business with Ciro, claiming he was young and smart, capable of actually teaching Genny something. Donna Imma on the other hand, was cold and non-supportive of Genny hanging out with him more and more often. Genny, to his surprise as well, ignored his mother’s displeasure and seemed genuinely enjoy his company.

Spending time with Genny gave his life a somewhat lighter tone, as the boy mooning over him like a puppy all the time. He shared some laugh and beers with the young man, even handed him his first cigarette. (Genny didn’t like the taste though.) It’s a strange relief, and ridiculous, to see the heir to the Savastano empire so naive and clueless, but Ciro couldn’t say it’s the worst trait. Ignorance might truly be a blessed. Sometimes he enjoyed Genny’s company, too, and it seemed like a much easier thing to do than thinking about the scars from his past and uncertainty of future. Other times he hated Gennaro and himself, he hated this masquerading facade of how close they seem, for they were distinct creatures after all.

-

**16**

Ciro returned home around six in the morning and found a note from Mattia on the coffee table, saying he went out for some girls and highly likely won’t be back tonight, and Rosario was nowhere to be found. It wasn’t any surprise so he grabbed a beer out of the fridge after a shower, he barely had time to dry his curly hair when he heard the front door unlocked. His shoulders tensed up but soon recognized it was Domenico paying a visit, now that’s a surprise. Domenico showed up with a tiny pack of white powder and half dozen of beer in hand, asking his “professional opinion” about his new recipe. Ciro didn’t think it was a good idea, they should wait for Mattia for he was a much better cook than him, but Domenico insisted. “He already tried it, said it’s good, but I want to hear what you think.” He did distantly remember Mattia saying something about the new recipe last week, so he didn’t decline again.

That shit was good, it’s all Ciro could utter. His head felt dizzy immediately after, a distinct sensation of numbness grew from his temples, and soon the world turned multicolor. Domenico laughed at his compliment, and stuck another beer in his hand. He could barely feel his fingers shaking and the sparkling liquor spilling on the kitchen table, but he did feel the elder man’s hand slid down from his shoulder to the small of his back, smoothly and gently. He froze, and the hand wasn’t gentle when it sneaked into his pants somehow and grabbed his asscheek firmly.

The rest of the night was half a blur. He knew those looks he had been receiving from Domenico weren’t pure admiration of his capability at work, and certainly not of his cooking skill. Maybe it’s the drug, that he felt his body burning in the most inhuman way when Domenico pressed the back of his neck into the mattress. It wasn’t that bad when he thought about it years later, but when the dawn arrived and daylight cracked though his bedroom window, he felt like every bone in his body had been broken. It couldn’t be any worse, he whispered to himself, but he didn’t really have previous experience to compare with. Domenico was sleeping satisfyingly by his side and the daylight burned his eyes, but he was too tired to get up and close the curtain. So he buried his face in the pillow instead, suffocating but not dying.

It cut deep but it was a lesson well learned, to remind him not to ever touch those powders and pills again.

When he woke up again, Domenico handed him a glass of water, which he quaffed instantly, and told him they’re going to a shooting range tonight. It wasn’t the first time he ever fired a gun, but it surely was his first time touching a rifle. He tried to imagine Domenico’s face on the shooting target, but soon gave up such nonsense thought. He didn’t hate him that much, he concluded as he pulled the trigger, again and again.

It’s a dangerous game to play, letting rage fuel your power. “You shouldn’t let anger blind you, never a good move. I tried, and it didn’t end well.” Attilio told him once as he show him the crazy long scar at his waist, a token of pain to remind him not to be impulsive. He should know it too, that it was dangerous to let any emotion interfere with rational thinking, so he would try to keep himself calm and steady every time he fire a gun.

-

**38**

Bulgaria wasn’t impressive, but that kid named SangueBlu kinda was. Like a new born to this cruel world, the kid was naive and impetuous, but he carried something valuable beyond the old glory of his bloodline. Enzo was brave enough to come all the way to this shit place, and challenge Mladen in the most devious way possible. Mindless and arrogant as Mladen, the young Bulgarian boss fell for it, half-voluntarily, just to get him of out his face with a sly move. Part of him absolutely despised that smooth fucker Mladen, knowing the Bulgarian was jealous that he could never be even half good as himself. The other part couldn’t really blame Mladen for hating him, because he loathed himself too. 

He didn’t know what he was searching for, spending that year in Bulgaria, maybe just an excuse of staying alive, maybe an escape of all the damage he had done. It was going in the correct direction he longed for, but then there was SangueBlu, destroying his establishment in this country with a grin, flame flickering in his icy blue eyes. I want you, his eyes said, and I want you to want me too. The cold and loneliness were almost unbearable in Bulgaria, and though he would never utter, there’s nothing more he longed for now than being desired by someone else. He had used himself as a tool in every way possible, but Enzo was offering something more than that, something that was truly precious, something he had seen in Genny’s eyes years ago.

And fuck, he missed home, he missed everything familiar and just the breeze of his land. He could restrict himself from going back but he couldn’t stop thinking about it, unless he eased the pain with something more painful, more shameful, and more suffocating. The young gang leader from Forcella reminded him of Genny and himself from many years ago, fearless and eager to put idea into action, believing they could change the world somehow with bare hands, as long as they were fighting together. Such a childish dream.

But now that he was offered a second chance, he may consider taking SangueBlu’s olive branch, if he ever wanted to go back home.

The truth was, he missed Gennaro, and he was sure Gennaro did not miss him.

-

**40**

He started to question his decision about the whole thing when he arrived at Latvia, and realized the sun never set in this place. He was offered a new life and he hated it already when the new life had barely started. Just like how he still hated himself, after all the amends he was trying to make, and they only seemed to open up new cuts and bruises. Don Aniello told him Genny had found a new life as well, and he was more than relived to hear. It was everything he wanted for him, that he could live a better live without Ciro Di Marzio somewhere in between. He had tried it before with fleeing to Bulgaria, turned out to be a total mess and Gennaro sunk even deeper than before. Don Aniello’s words were like cold water pouring onto the last stroke of fire, shattering the last ray of hope inside his cold dead heart. And it was good, to be fair, nothing was more convincing than knowing he had done right to Gennaro, and now it’s time to move one for both of them. Another chance, more chances, leaving home and flying far away, leaving everything behind and searching for a new position…All of these sounded familiar, and the worst déjà vu seemed clear in his mind.

Trouble seemed to find him easily, being L’immortale or not. Not even an hour upon his landing, things went south as always. Ciro was caught in the middle of a foreign war, this time he had no back-up whatsoever. Fighting alone in a strange place, it never got easier.

The worst part out of everything was, his worst childhood nightmare was back, the demon haunted him for so long in the deep of night was back alive, standing in front him and politely greeting him as Don Ciro.

Bruno.

Every fiber of his essence screamed at him to flee, to wake up, to end this nightmare this time for good. But it was never that easy, and this old man couldn’t be that scary. He was here for a job, not for personal pleasure and he should keep it this way.

He put his shades back on, intended to hide the hesitance in his eyes. Everything felt so wrong, the sun never sets and he hated daylight.

-

**25**

Ciro got the news when he came back from a business trip to the north, Don Pietro was having some important negotiation, he brought Attilio and Bolletta with him, and specifically asked Attilio to bring him into the trip. Apparently his tight relationship with the boss’ son paid off at the end, though he was the youngest, Ciro was getting closer each day to the inner circle of the Savastano clan. He went home and took of his sunglasses, the first person he noticed wasn’t his wife or daughter, but Rosario sitting in his living room with a solemn expression. Rosario put down the coffee cup and greeted him with a tight hug, he knew something was up even before the younger man spoke up.

It turned out that it was about Domenico. The police arrested him in a raid in his canning factory last night, with loads of unmixed drugs and Mattia was there, too. Mattia was stupid enough to try to flee through the back door, and was gunned down like a dog by the police. They had lost a friend and though he hadn’t worked with Domenico in ages, he was once a close acquittance. He had no word, only to pat Rosario lightly on his shoulder as an attempt to comfort. They walked down this road together and many brothers had died on the way, now Rosario was the only good friend he had. Don Pietro wasn’t going to let this go so simply, but it’s highly likely that they would never see Domenico ever again.

They grieved their own friends with beers and silence. Rosario pressed a kiss to his cheekbone when he left at the break of dawn. Something was dead inside of him long before, but now there might just be no remnant left to trace.

-

**22**

It’s his birthday and he decided he would have a day off, walking up late at night with the greeting of Mattia and Rosario’s kisses and slaps. Ciro was in a decent mood today, so he put on his finest jacket and spent the night in a noisy pub with his friends. Some weed and a few bottles of beer down, he was having a blast evening for the first time in ten years. Maybe he could forget everything for just tonight, no burden to bear and no life to risk. He danced till he was tired and thirty, longing for another drink. He got a glass of water from the bartender this time, calming himself down so the bliss would not fade too fast. Only five minutes away from his friends and he saw Rosario searching for him with a long neck, he smiled at the sight. Rosario spotted him by the bar and quickly pushed through the crowds. “Come and dance, big boy, you’re not getting away so easily,” Rosario almost screamed at his ear, pointing toward the dance floor with a lazy wave of hand, “You see that dark hair girl there? She’s Teresa and she’s here tonight with some pretty lady friends, why don’t we go dance with them?”

Ciro laughed and drank up the glass of water, walked back with a hand around Rosario’s neck. His eyes fell on a lovely brunette who was swinging her slim waist right next to Teresa, she introduced herself as Deborah, and they spent the rest of his birthday night together.

-

**34**

Gennaro returned from Honduras a beast he could barely recognized, with tattoo under his collarbones and eyes full of hatred. Ciro could see him making effort to restraint his rage, but anger evidently fueled every move he made. Maybe there was no one teaching him this important lesson, that irritation could never make you stronger, only deliberation could. This wasn’t part of his plan but fortunately, he got used to improvise. He tried to talk some reasons into Genny, he was always good at this and he knew Genny loved it to his bones. But this time it only made things worse.

Genny snarled at his words of comfort and grabbed his shoulder with a strength he had never felt from the young man before. “You’re just using me, Ciru’, I’ve seen through you now,” his remark was cold and his eyes, deep and dark and fierce, no light flickering inside and no empathy left to digest, “and you’ve been using me all these years, I think it’s time for me to collect some favors back.”

He was speechless when Genny bent him over the very study table of his father with both hands, his skin was burning and Genny moved with no mercy. The young man talked filth into his ears but he was too panicked to pick up the whole thing, something about he wanted this since he hit puberty, or similar phrase. Genny’s left hand glided under his shirt, nails scratched his waist, making him flinch but his other hand was pressing firmly on his shoulder, making sure he was steady and obedient with his cheekbone grinding the table. When he managed to calm down a little, he found some oxygen back but the man behind him was terrifyingly determent. He wasn’t struggling much but Genny didn’t get gentler, claiming he had to pay him back throughly. What a fucking hypocrite.

His body hurt but it was no worse than the torment inside his head. Gennaro betrayed him, well to be fair, they betrayed each other. But after all these years of bonding, he had thought there was something different between them. It turned out that nothing was worthy compared to blood and profits, power and money. It wasn’t a surprise to him this day would come, but he never expected it came so soon. They were nothing to each other after all.

He had let Gennaro take what he wanted and it didn’t ease the pain in his left chest. “Come back tomorrow morning, and we’ll talk business.” Genny said as he zipped his pants with a cold grin, like he just finished paying a whore. He had no words, only to stared death into Gennaro’s dark eyes, getting no emotion in return. He shouldn’t be joking about the old Gennaro being clueless, for he actually preferred him like that. As for now, he might be devious, but Genny was blind.

He decided at that moment that he hated Gennaro, and one day he would fire his gun at him, but if he wanted to win this game, he must play it carefully and patiently.

-

**38**

He felt great, fresh for the first time in years, to be able to help Gennaro get his family back. Fate brought them apart and back together, it was something that challenged the very last ray of hope left in his heart. When Gennaro showed up at his hotel door, black and blue like a defeated animal, he knew he wasn’t that cruel to turn him down again. He dreamed of Stella that night, her sweet smile and her lovely songs, she was the best singer he knew and her angelic voice offered him comfort like no other. The dream was brief, but it was enough to give him a reason of getting off bed the next morning.

But then, this kind of feeling never lasted long, and he should know that sneaky little pal of SangueBlu was up to no good. He had wanted an end for so long, but when it finally seemed to come, he glanced into Genny’s obsidian eyes and found something delicate that he never vocalized. Yet he could hear it well, from the one last kiss he blew and one last tear he shed. What’s the point of resisting? He had been longing for a restful sleep for so long, and maybe it’s the farewell gift Genny could kindly offer. He only wished he could see Stella again, but he doubted he would. As to Gennaro, he was eager to find out, where would fate take them to this time?

The second Genny held that gun, pressed gently onto his chest, he knew he forgave him now, no matter the feud they left behind.

-

**40**

They took the detour pass through Poland and down, stopped somewhere around Dortmund for the night. The ride home was unexpectedly silent, with Genny’s eyes fixing on the road ahead and he resting his forehead on the passenger window. Now that he had left Riga behind, time to conclude another chapter of nightmare, of all the mess he had dug into. Bruno was defeated by envy at the end, which he had seen in the past. Time never brought peace to the old man, but only accelerated the hatred. They played the game of pretense all over again, but Ciro was no longer that starry-eye boy he was called a son anymore. A son, he could laugh at that, maybe he knew it from the start that family could never be trusted.

And when Gennaro arrived with a rather surprise package, he didn’t know where to hide anymore. How could they escape each other? He had tried everything, he had betrayed and lied, fled and sacrificed, but all of it brought him right back to where he once was, right here, next to Gennaro Savastano, a fate that he could not break free.

Gennaro must figure that he was really tired, so he asked him if he wanted to stay the night here, somewhere in Germany that he didn’t pay attention to. They ended up sharing a king-size bed, whether the old lady at the front desk was intentional or not, he was too worn out to argue. Genny wasn’t happy about it, but who to kidding? There was nothing between them worth hiding now, and the way Genny blushed just proved it all to him. He threw himself onto the soft mattress the second the hotel door was shut, watching the other man put down his backpack. 

“What is that?” Genny pointed at his direction with his jaw, Ciro gazed down at himself trying to find out what he was talking about, then he saw the necklace lying on the bedsheet, jumped out from the inner pocket of his jacket. “Oh, this,” he picked up the silver chain with a subtle smile, “it’s the bullet…A sweet redheaded nurse gave me this after my surgery, said it’s a token for escaping death. She said if the bullet didn’t stuck in my check, I wouldn’t survive the water. Isn’t it nice? A lovely gesture from that girl whose name I never knew, I don’t think I’ll ever wear this though. She didn’t know I’m the immortal, and it wasn’t my first time winning the battle against death.” Gennaro stared at the bullet necklace in his hand, so devoted as if he forgot how to breath, but he didn’t make a comment. “Are you going to take a shower or what?” He sighed, watching the other man blinked a few times before bolting into the bathroom, door slammed close. He found himself a random white shirt from Genny’s bag and changed quickly, the shirt was obviously oversize but he didn’t give a fuck. Waiting for Genny seemed like a never-ending scenario, the sound of shower water made him relaxed a little, he passed out before even noticing.

When Ciro woke up again it was still the middle of the night, he was stunt how he just fell asleep like that, managed to achieve something he had been failing for years, while sharing a bed with someone else which always made him tensed. Tonight he woke up to the sound of Gennaro in distress, the man was sitting on the edge of the bed when he slowly opened his eyes, sweating and panting. Must have been a nightmare, Ciro pulled himself up and reached a tender hand to his shoulder. Genny waved it away, trying to hide his agony but in vain.

“It’s because of me, isn’t it?” He heard his own voice shaking, backing away from the other man. Now that he thought about it, everything was his fault. He had believed Don Aniello that Genny found a new life and was better off without him, yet he fucked everything up in Riga again, just like how he made a mess in Bulgaria. He thought his heart was long dead and cold, but it seemed like there’s still a flame burning inside his veins, urging him to chase the false light. But he knew how the story ends, he got to taste a sip of sweetness like the worst relapse, before falling back to the darkness or getting burnt by the ferocious daylight. If it’s not Genny…Out of all people he had loved and trusted, Gennaro was always different. He couldn’t quite put a name to it, but all the feud and hatred only seemed to tangled them closer and tighter, a bond stronger than blood or titles.

The idea of having him and then losing him again make his hair stand in fear, he thought he would be used to the devastation now but it only got worse each time. He just realized how much he loved this man, he wanted him so much that he had to push him away.

“I thought you were having a new life and I could finally…But I…” He gasped, feeling himself tearing up, but he refused to let them drop. “Fuck, I hate myself so much.” God, did he just utter his self-hatred out loud? “Shut it!” Gennaro cut him off, turned around to grab his hands, “It’s not…Why do you think I came all the way down for you? I could’ve send anyone, but…” Their eyes met, and Ciro found himself drowning in those dark irises, too late to turn away. 

“Ciru’…Forgive me.” His voice was so low that Ciro almost didn’t pick up, but he needed not to say anything, because he forgave him even before he pulled the trigger. He needed not to answer, too. So their lips met, gentle and passionate at the same time, Ciro wasn’t sure who started the kiss but he didn’t care one bit. He was never this sober but the sensation of Genny’s warm body pressing against him was just too overwhelming, he felt Genny’s big hands on his neck and under his loosen shirt, and the flame inside him was burning up again. He felt alive. 

“I want you to fuck me.” It was the very first time he had said something like this, to anyone, and the stunt on Gennaro’s face was almost worth saying it again. Ciro laughed at his kissed Genny on the curve of his neck, and when was the last time he laughed like this? Genny was never the gentle kind, but the way his fingers stroked through the scar he left on his chest, so cautious like he was afraid it would hurt him just to breath. He wanted to tell him it didn’t hurt, that it was okay, that everything was in the past and they were together now. But he didn’t speak it out, he knew that words were colorless compared to his gazes. The rest was effortless like they were meant for each other, and they were always meant for each other. Ecstasy might be a strong word but Ciro wouldn’t mind using it for now, just tonight, for the loving he felt in Genny’s every thrust and kiss before the sun rises again. The young man left a bite mark on his collarbone while glancing at the nightstand, where the bullet necklace was lying quietly, and Ciro couldn’t help but smile back at him.

Insomnia found him after the sex and Ciro was back to his daily routine of pretending to sleep. He slept for three hours already and it was more than enough to keep him alive. But tonight was different, as he leaned closer to Gennaro’s warm chest and listened to his light snoring. Dawn was about to breach the sky, but this time he did not have to fear the hollowness accompanied by the first light.

-

**Author's Note:**

> This writing style is different and why didn't I write the whole smut? This is so not me someone send help plz. Hey remember to click the fanart cos' it's way better than my random fic.  
> God, did I just utter my self-hatred out loud? (Alright it's the same old me with same bad writing I'm sorry.) (Ugh it's the gemini habit die hard help plz.)


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